#AmericanWriters
Even in such a scene of senseless… The children were surprised one su… By a strange man who called across… Inquiring for their father’s resid… And, being answered that this was…
It’s many’s the scenes which is de… As I think of my childhood so lon… The home of my birth, with it’s ol… And the bright morning-glories tha… The warped clab-board roof whare t…
I’m twins, I guess, 'cause my Ma… I’m two little girls. An’ one o’… Is _Good_ little girl; an’ th’oth… Is _Bad little girl as she can be… An’ Ma say so, 'most ever’ day.
They called him Mr. What’s-his-na… From where he was, or why he came, Or when, or what he found to do, Nobody in the city knew. He lived, it seemed, shut up alone
Of the North I wove a dream, All bespangled with the gleam Of the glancing wings of swallows Dipping ripples in a stream, That, like a tide of wine,
1 O the Raggedy Man! He work… 2 An’ he’s the goodest man eve… 3 He comes to our house every… 4 An’ waters the horses, an’ f… 5 An’ he opens the shed—an’ we…
Pa he bringed me here to stay 'Til my Ma she’s well.—An’ nen He’s go’ hitch up, Chris’mus-day, An’ come take me back again Wher’ my Ma’s at! Won’t I be
The rain! the rain! the rain! It gushed from the skies and strea… Like awful tears; and the sick man… How pitiful it seemed! And he turned his face away,
A was an elegant Ape Who tied up his ears with red tape… And wore a long veil Half revealing his tail Which was trimmed with jet bugles…
The world is turned ag’in’ me, And people says, 'They guess That nothin’ else is in me But pure maliciousness!' I git the blame for doin’
The merriment that followed was su… As though the story-teller’s attit… Were dual, in a sense, appealing q… As much to sorrow as to mere delig… According, haply, to the listener’…
The boy lives on our Farm, he’s n… Afeard o’ horses none! An’ he can make 'em lope, er trot, Er rack, er pace, er run. Sometimes he drives two horses, wh…
Just to be good— This is enough—enough! O we who find sin’s billows wild a… Do we not feel how more than any g… Would be the blameless life we led…
AFTER LEE O. HARRIS The master-hand whose pencils trac… This wondrous landscape of the mor… Is but the sun, whose glowing face Reflects the rapture and the grace
_You who to the rounded prime_ _Of a life of toil and stress_, _Still have kept the morning-time_ _Of glad youth in heart and spirit… _So your laugh, as children hear i…